The Maroon Part 47

The partner of Judith Jessuron was Herbert Vaughan.

A ball-room may be likened to a kaleidoscope: the personages are the same, their relative positions constantly changing. Design it or not, either during the dance or the interregnum--one time or another--you will find yourself face to face, or side by side, with every individual in the room.

So in the ball-room of Montego Bay came face to face two sets of waltzers--Smythje and Kate, Herbert and Judith.

The situation arose as they were resting from the dizzy whirl of a waltz.

Smythje bent profoundly towards the floor--Judith, with an imperious sweep, returned the salutation--Herbert bowed to his cousin, with a half-doubting, half-appealing glance; but the nod received in return was so slight, so distant, that even the keen-eyed Custos, closely watching every movement of the quartette, failed to perceive it!

Poor Kate! She knew that the paternal eye, severely set, was upon her.

She remembered that painful promise.

Not a word pa.s.sed between the parties. Scarce a moment stood they together. Herbert, stung by Kate's salutation--unexpectedly cold, almost insultingly distant--warped his arm around the waist of his willing partner, and spun off through the un.o.bservant crowd.

Though often again upon that same night Smythje and Kate, Herbert and the Jewess were respectively partners--so often as to lead to general observation--never again did the four stand _vis-a-vis_ or side by side.

Whenever chance threatened to bring them together, design, or something like it, stepped in to thwart the approximation!

Almost all the night did Herbert dance with the Jewess--no longer with despondency in his look, but with the semblance of a gay and reckless joy. Never had Judith received from the young Englishman such ardent attention; and for the first time since their introduction to each other did she feel conscious of something like a correspondence to her own fierce love. For the moment her proud, cruel heart became dissolved to a true feminine tenderness; and in the spiral undulations of the waltz, as she coiled round the robust form of her partner, her cheek rested upon his shoulder, as if laid there to expire in the agony of an exquisite bliss.

She stayed not to question the cause of Herbert's devotedness. Her own heart, blinded by love, and yearning for reciprocity, threw open its portals to receive the pa.s.sion without challenge or scrutiny--without knowing whether it was real or only apparent.

A wild anguish would she have experienced at that moment, could she have divined what was pa.s.sing in Herbert's mind. Little did she suspect that his devotedness to her was only a demonstration intended to act upon another. Little dreamt she that real love for another was the cause and origin of that counterfeit that was deceiving herself. Happily for her heart's peace she knew not this.

Herbert alone knew it. As the kaleidoscope evolved the dazzling dancers one after another, often did the face of Kate Vaughan flit before the eyes of her cousin, and his before her eyes. On such occasions, the glance hastily exchanged was one of defiant indifference: for both were playing at piques! The cold salutation had given _him_ the cue, ignorant as he was of its cause. _She_ had begun the game only a little later--on observing the att.i.tude of extreme contentment which Herbert had a.s.sumed towards his companion. She knew not that it was studied.

Her skill in coquetry, although sufficient for the pretence of indifference, was not deep enough to discern it in him; and both were now behaving as if each believed the love of the other beyond all hope.

Before abandoning the ball-room, this belief--erroneous as it might be on both sides--received further confirmation. A circ.u.mstance arose that strengthened it to a full and perfect conviction.

From the gossip of a crowded ball-room many a secret may be learnt. In those late hours, when the supper champagne has untied the tongue, and dancers begin to fancy each other deaf, he who silently threads his way or stands still among the crowd, may catch many a sentence not intended to be overheard, and often least of all by himself. Many an involuntary eavesdropper has fallen into this catastrophe. At least two instances occurred at the Smythje hall; and to the two individuals in whom, perhaps, we are most interested--Herbert and Kate Vaughan.

Herbert for a moment was alone. Judith, not that she had tired of her partner, but perhaps only to save appearances, was dancing with another.

It was not Smythje, whom all the evening she had studiously avoided.

She remembered the incident on the Jumbe Rock; and feared that dancing with him might conduct to a similar disposition of partners as that which had occurred on the day of the eclipse.

It was not flirtation in any way. On that night Judith had no need.

Confident in her success with Herbert, she was contented; and cared not to do anything that might hazard a rupture of the blissful chain she believed she had woven around him.

Herbert was standing alone in the crowd. Two young planters were near him, engaged in conversation. They had mixed their liquor, and therefore talked loud.

Herbert could not help hearing what they talked of; and, having heard, could not help heeding it. He was interested in the subject, though not from its singularity; for it was the common topic of the ball-room, and had been throughout the night. The theme was Smythje; and coupled with his name was that of Kate Vaughan.

On hearing these names, Herbert was no longer an involuntary listener.

He strained his ears to catch every word. He had not heard the beginning of the dialogue, but the introduction was easily inferred.

"When is it to come off?" inquired the least knowing of the planters, from him who was imparting the information.

"No time fixed yet," was the reply; "at least, none has been mentioned.

Soon, I suppose."

"There'll be a grand spread upon the occasion--breakfast, dinner, supper, and ball, no doubt?"

"Sure to be all that. The Custos is not the man to let the ceremony pa.s.s without all the _eclat_."

"Honeymoon tour afterwards?"

"Of course. He takes her to London. I believe they are to reside there. Mr Smythje don't much relish our colonial life: he misses the opera. A pity: since it'll make one beautiful woman less in the Island!"

"Well, all I've got to say is, that Loff Vaughan has sold his n.i.g.g.e.r well."

"Oh, for shame! to use such a word in speaking of the beautiful--the accomplished Miss Vaughan. Come, Thornd.y.k.e! I'm shocked at you."

Thornd.y.k.e, by the expression, had hazarded the punching of his head--not by his companion, but by a stranger who stood near.

Herbert curbed his indignation. Kate cared not for him! Perhaps she would not have accepted him even as her champion!

Almost at that same moment Kate, too, was listening to a dialogue painfully a.n.a.logous. Smythje could not dance all the night with her.

Too many claimed the honour of his partnership; and for a set or two she had been forsaken by him--left under the guardianship of the watchful Custos.

"Who can he be?" inquired one of two gentle gossips within earshot of Kate.

"A young Englishman, I have heard: a relative of Vaughans of Mount Welcome; though, for some reason, not acknowledged by the Custos."

"That bold girl appears willing enough to acknowledge him. Who is she?"

"A Miss Jessuron. She is the daughter of the old Jew penn-keeper, who used to deal largely in blacks."

"Faugh! she is behaving as if she belonged to a--"

The last word was whispered, and Kate did not hear it.

"True enough!" a.s.serted the other; "but, as they are engaged, that, I take it, is n.o.body's business but their own. He's a stranger in the Island; and don't know much about certain people's position, I suppose.

A pity! He seems a nice sort of a young fellow; but as he makes his bed, so let him lie. Ha! ha! If report speaks true of Miss Judith Jessuron, he'll find no bed of roses there. Ha! ha! ha!"

What causes merriment to one may make another miserable. This was true of the words last spoken. From the speaker and her companion they elicited a laugh--from Kate Vaughan they drew a sigh, deep and sad.

She left the ball with a bleeding heart.

"Lost! lost for ever!" murmured she, as she laid her cheek upon a sleepless pillow.

"Won!" triumphantly exclaimed Judith Jessuron, flinging her majestic form on a couch. "Herbert Vaughan is mine!"

"Lost! lost for ever!" soliloquised Herbert, as he closed the door of his solitary sleeping-room.

"Won!" cried the victorious Smythje, entering his elegant bed-chamber, and, in the fervour of his enthusiasm, dropping his metropolitan _patois_. "Kate Vaughan is mine!"

Volume Two, Chapter XVII.

AFTER THE BALL.